One night. An encounter with an established expiration date.
Her heart sank even as longing rushed through her. He didn’t want more. Would not expect her to change her life for him. A rule of the Widow’s League, in fact. This was a game he’d played a hundred times, a thousand, with glowing reviews. He knew how to manage an affair, and she wanted to have one.
Take him, Alex. Let him show you how it’s done.
“I accept your apology,” she whispered, her head dropping back as he began to make love to her in a way no man ever had. Whispered suggestions, commands, pleas, his ardor warming her soul. His broad body surrounding hers, a promise of more.
A promise of everything.
Bracing his fist on the ledge, his crutch clattered to the floor. Guiding her mouth to his, he took her lips, sinking into a bruising kiss that jumped in exactly where the other had left off. Engulfed in sensation, yearning, lust. His arm wound around her waist, tugging her against him. Firm muscle twitched beneath her seeking hands. Shoulder, waist, hip. Fingers tangling in his hair, guiding the kiss. Finally, taking a measure of control.
“That’s it,” he whispered and backed her into the wall, caging her in. He cupped her breast, his thumb circling her nipple as reason left her in a rush. “Take what you want.”
Submission and power twisted through her, contradictory needs perfectly wedded.
Rampant passion—without limit, without fear—colored the moment, a wash of crimson staining her sight. Alexandra had never felt truer to her body, truer to herself. She’d not known how to ask for what she desired or had a man willing to let her ask.
Cort DeWitt allowed all, his kindness claiming not only her ardor but part of her heart.
With a gentle spin, he backed her toward the bed, his step stumbling but determined. His breath scattered against her cheek, his grip demanding, his shaft stiff at her hip.
“Cort,” she gasped when they reached their destination. “Wait.”
He lifted his head, his eyes shining like tarnished copper in the muted lamplight. The loveliest shade they’d ever turned in her presence. His cheeks were flushed, his lips swollen from her consideration, proof of his need should she require it. “I don’t want to wait. I’ve been waiting for ten years,” he growled and turned to sit on the mattress, taking his weight off his leg with a sigh. Thumbing the short row of buttons on her nightgown free, he let the material gape, his gaze so mad with yearning, she shivered from the heat of it. “I’ll lay my proposal before you, should you have any objections.”
Nudging silk aside, exposing her breast, he caressed her hardened nipple. “I plan to suck on these until you can’t stand, not another second.” Making good on his vow, his mouth covered one peak, his cheeks hollowing. The sight of him drawing her between his lips, his tongue coming out to lick, did something horrid and wonderful to her.
“I never liked this before,” she admitted in a ragged whisper, tangling her fingers in his hair and directing him to the other starved-for-attention bud.
But this, oh…
How had she not known how brilliant this could feel?
He trailed his nose round the plump curve, his teeth nipping and sending another ripple of pleasure dancing along her skin. “The wrong man, perhaps.”
Perhaps, she thought and tumbled into the thrill of being seduced.
Gripping her hip, he drew her closer. “Then I’m either going to raise this slip of silk high or tear it completely from your body.” Going with the former, he drew her nightgown in fistfuls until she stood nude to the waist before him. He looked down, a tattered exhalation streaking free. “Christ, you’re beautiful. I should have known. The hair between your legs is a shade lighter than the glory on your head. My weakness, right there. Enslaved and desperate at the sight.”
“I’m surprised you’ll readily admit this to me.”
“I can’t very well hide it, sweetness.” Exhaling through his teeth, his gaze caught hers. With a crooked smile, he gave the nightgown a tender tug. “This has to go. Please. I’ll leave the destruction of clothing for the next session.” He laughed, charming her. “And if you’re wondering, this is the DeWitt version of begging.”
Next session. Did that mean they’d touch each other more than one time during the night? She and Amberly had spent ten minutes at a maximum making love and not more than thrice a year, almost by calendar date, for their entire marriage.
Alexandra experienced a moment’s panic. This was it, decision made if she disrobed. With a drawn breath, she stepped back, nudged the nightgown from her shoulders and wiggled until it lay in a puddle at her feet.
Cort held back, tension radiating through his biceps and shoulders. His knuckles paled where his fingers lay knotted in the counterpane. “You are a wonder. One I’ve been waiting my entire life to see.”
She blushed, amazed he’d held such adulation for her, and she’d not realized it.
Leaning back, he grazed his hand over his cock, which was straining powerfully against his trouser close. Flipping one button, then the next, he grinned. A wicked, calculating tilt of his lips. “I’ve not been so hard for so long—practically every second for two days—since I was a callow lad. I thought I took care of myself enough times to ease the ache. Apparently, three isn’t the magic number.”
“Three,” she murmured, fascinated. She’d never seen a man caress himself in this manner. It was the most erotic act she’d ever witnessed.
His trousers gaping, he worked his shaft from his drawers. When his rigid length sprang free, Alexandra blinked, her tongue hitting the back of her teeth. Oh…
He gave his cock a languid stroke before looping his arm about her waist and drawing her into the vee of his spread legs. He shifted his hand between her thighs, parting her folds in delicate but unmistakable possession. “The choice is yours,” he said and slid his finger inside her, pumping until she gasped, her core going damp and hot, the world fading into the shadows. “Either you climb atop me and we go that way, you riding, quickly, a first shot to relieve us both. Or you lay back and I go slowly, until you’re begging for mercy. Or, hell, until I’m begging, as I said I would.”
